Things My Kitten Knows #1

Lesson #1: There is no such thing as TOO much happiness.

About a month ago, our family dealt with the natural death of a beloved pet. My husband pointed out that I was taking her death harder than he expected. It wasn't unexpected to me at all. You see, Shadow-- a "non-pedigree, long-haired farm cat"-- had come into our family on the same day as our oldest adopted son. In fact, she was part of the package deal: one six-year-old boy who had been abused in his birth home, and less-than-a-year-old cat, who had been tormented by the boy.

She was as skittish as he, and as unwilling to trust. She hid under beds and barely tolerated us noticing her, let alone petting her or (God forbid!) picking her up. The boy was amenable to hugs most of the time, but could cuss like a sailor if pushed into a corner. She was easily de-clawed. His claws came out from time to time, along with a violent streak that simmered just below the surface. She wouldn't have dreamed of running away- too timid to venture outside. He usually ran away from school once a year-- always with the intention of running HOME.

Gradually, he learned to trust his new family. Gradually she learned to trust me. Eventually, she even allowed me to pick her up and hold her for a moment or two, knowing that as soon as she began to twist out of my arms, I would gently place her on the floor and allow her to be free. And once in a while, she would even lay on my lap-- as long as there was a blanket on it. This prompted the boy, about six years ago, to give her to me. "She's your cat anyway, Mom."

As difficult as it was for her to acclimate herself to transitions, it was even harder for her boy. Because of his mental illnesses, past abuse and learning disabilities, his path has not been an easy one. Psychiatric hospitals, treatment facilities, juvenile detention and now, prison time have made his "place" in our family one that is precarious at best. He has not lived in our home for the past six years, and at times, we do not even know how to reach him.

Shadow was the last living link I had to him in our home... other than, of course, my husband.

The grief for her dying is layered with grief for so much more.

Of course, the relationship with our son has been "dying" for years. Oh, we love him and will continue to do what we are able when we can.... But we will never have that "ideal" relationship that all parents hope for.

I wasn't aware of just how much sadness surrounded that until my husband came home two weeks ago and announced, "It's not fair!" It seems that a little puff-ball of fur had planted himself on my husband's shoe while he walked home from work. "I could shoo away any other cat in town", he claimed, but this one had big blue eyes. As soon as I saw him, I was smitten. He was smitten. Our two teenagers were smitten.

Cass (for Cassanova) has brought our family together in a way that surprised us all. We sit together in the living room and laugh at his antics. We take turns telling each other the silly things he has done now. We snip at each other less and laugh WITH each other more. We compare our "battle scars" (he still has his front claws and knows how to play with them!) and the love that we shower on him seems to spill over into love we show each other.

And we are ALL taking note of the patience being shown by our old black cat.

Lesson #1: There is no such thing as TOO much happiness!

What I "Gave Up" for Lent

My children are chomping at the bit to know the answer! "Mom, are you going to tell us on Sunday (Easter) what YOU gave up for Lent?" It has been our family's BIG SECRET since Ash Wednesday. Usually, I give up something like potato chips or peanut butter. Last year, I gave up Internet access at home, which wasn't a huge sacrifice since at that time, we had dial up only.

This year, as Lent approached, I pondered. I prayed. I "tried on" different options in my head, much like I might do a new Spring wardrobe. Nothing seemed to fit.

And then, one evening, after I had ranted at our son over yet one MORE thing he was forgetting to do..., after yet another round of rhetorical questions that he, a teenager with some special needs issues would try to answer: "How many times do we have to tell you?..." I realized that I had fallen into a terrible and deadly pattern. I was only seeing the negative actions of my two precious and beautiful children.

As a former teacher, I know the power of positive reinforcement. And I know the damage that negative reinforcement can do as well.

I didn't wait for Ash Wednesday to arrive. I began right then and there to practice my Lenten "fast". I challenged myself to look for at least three good things my children (and my husband, too-- though he doesn't know it) were doing. I pledged that "even if I have to ignore a few mistakes", I would focus on the positives. I would not take the "weenie way out" (breaking the fast on Sundays), and other than the day I got home from the band trip to New York City, it's gone rather well.

In fact, last night at the Passover Seder, my daughter asked about it. "I've been trying to figure out what you are doing," she told the table. "I don't know. Maybe being nicer?"

YES! She noticed!

For the record, I am thinking that, for the first time ever, I might actually be "getting it", in regard to the whole purpose of giving something up for Lent. After all, in years past, I would have been counting the days, minutes, hours until I could eat chocolate, watch television or have a peanut butter sandwich. And I would have missed the whole point of Christ's sacrifice of love. God has made us a new Creation. I like the change.